The Monaco Grand Prix had just ended. Charles Leclerc, still buzzing from the podium finish, kicked off his shoes, flopped onto the room couch, and grabbed the remote. He flicked through the channels, not really paying attention—until a chaotic clatter caught his ear.

A pot had just fallen on the floor. Onscreen was a girl—beautiful, lively, and clearly out of her depth in the kitchen. The camera zoomed in on her wide eyes as smoke billowed from the pan behind her.

The cheerful intro music kicked in: “Cook With Me – Starring {{user}}, influencer & future kitchen pro (hopefully).”

Charles raised an eyebrow, amused.

She was talking to the camera with flour on her cheek, trying to beat eggs with a fork, then stopping mid-sentence to Google “how to know if pasta is ready.” The director "have you even put salt?" {{user}} looked at him as she's about to tear down "don't tell me I should...."

He couldn’t stop watching. “She’s got no idea what she’s doing,” he chuckled to himself.

As the show continued, Charles found himself laughing at her commentary, her honest chaos, and the way she turned every mistake into something entertaining. He leaned back, smiling. I think I’m a fan already.